


Vows Made In Wine

by skysedge



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Light Tressa bullying, M/M, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Spoilers for both of their stories, The others are there too so general party shenanigans, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27182449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skysedge/pseuds/skysedge
Summary: Therion has always felt at home in an alehouse. No matter the town, no matter the region, an alehouse always feels the same.  That is until Alfyn tags along on his journey uninvited and everything he knows about the world slowly starts to change.
Relationships: Alfyn Greengrass/Therion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60
Collections: Fic In A Box





	Vows Made In Wine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [waterleveldropping](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterleveldropping/gifts).



**_I pray you, do not fall in love with me, for I am falser than vows made in wine._ **

Therion has always felt at home in an alehouse. No matter the town, no matter the region, an alehouse always feels the same.

The same sticky wooden tables. The same murky lamplight. The same dour faced barkeep weary with the world. It's a place Therion can work and relax at the same time, one hand on a flagon and the other in someone else's pocket. The closest thing he has to a home is not one but many places held together with the promise of rumour and the certainty of liquor. He's never been in one he disliked

Until now, that is.

It's not the alehouse itself that he had a problem with. A sturdy building in the Riverlands, sweet mead in his cup, lips flapping all around. It's a comfortable atmosphere. No, the _place_ is fine. It's the company that's irritating him. He's sharing a table with a man he had approached out of curiosity, nothing more, and who he had somehow ended up lending a hand to. He's earned a drink for his trouble but he’s starting to regret everything. He can’t relax like this. 

For a start, Alfyn won’t stop staring at him. The man is on his fourth cup – where these country folk put their alcohol he has no idea, the man isn’t even red in the cheeks – and he’s spent the entire time watching Therion across the table. If Alfyn has been expecting small talk he’s fresh out of luck. Therion makes a living out of people that talk too freely and he has no intention of becoming one. His patience is almost unending, a quality he’s cultivated throughout his career, and he’s certain he can outlast an honest man like Alfyn when it comes to awkwardness. Eventually the man will snap like a twig and say whatever he’s been trying to say with his eyes or he’ll get bored and leave. 

It’s been almost an hour. Therion is staring at his hazy reflection in his mead, his silver hair golden in the liquid, when Alfyn finally breaks. 

“Therion.” 

Therion takes his time. He raises his flagon, takes a long draft, and sets it back down almost silently. He runs his fingers over the blemishes in the wood, watching Alfyn from the corner of his eye. Only once Alfyn opens his mouth to speak again does Therion raise his own voice to interrupt him. 

“That’s my name.” 

For a moment he thinks he’s finally broken the stalemate. Alfyn’s honest brown eyes widen, his large hands tightening around his flagon. A moment before things can get really fun Alfyn’s expression softens and relaxes back in his seat. 

“I’ve been wondering,” he says, his tone light and casual as if he’s speaking to an old friend and not a near stranger.“Why did you help me?” 

Although he keeps his expression blank, Therion is surprised. He had been expecting something different. ‘Why did you steal from my neighbour’, perhaps. A follow up ‘why didn’t I stop you’ or ‘can you give her the money back’. Maybe an unsubtle ‘did you escape from gaol’. Therion’s done his best to hide the Fool’s Bangle but it had been difficult while plunging his dagger into a giant snake to worry about keeping his wrists covered. But questioning his _good_ actions? Why? 

Ugh, the whole situation is ridiculous. He exhales a long sigh. 

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” he says quietly. “Does it matter?” 

Alfyn isn’t deterred. Instead of backing down he gives a warm laugh. 

“Well, yeah, it does,” he says. “If we’re gonna be travellin’ together I want to get to know you better. To understand you, you know?” 

The man is a fool. True, he had expressed a wish to travel and help people but Therion had never said they would be going together. His exact words had been ‘do what you want’. Alfyn’s slower than he thought to have taken that for a promise. 

“I never said I’d travel with you,” he says curtly, hoping that will be the end of the matter. 

It isn’t. In fact, Alfyn’s smile is wider than ever. 

Actually, he smiles _constantly._ It’s a little unnerving on a man who could either split a tree in half with an axe or take a few plants from the local field and concoct a poison if he so chose. Not that he ever would. From the moment Therion first laid eyes on him he could tell that he’s the sort to wear his heart on his sleeve. He smiles and he laughs and he helps people without ever considering the danger. It’s ridiculous. 

And yet, somehow, it works. By offering trust, Alfyn invites it. It’s not in Therion’s nature to trust people but he’s already told Alfyn far more about himself than he had ever intended. This guileless apothecary knows he’s in the company of a master thief, one who has been coerced into thieving for someone else. He knows Therion’s name, the treasure he’s seeking and that he’s a wanted man across the continent. It’s _humiliating._ It must be a sort of magic, being able to extract information with just a smile. 

Sorcery or not, Therion has no intention of travelling with him. He’s starting to realise that unfortunately he might not have a choice. 

“You’ve got to go to Noblecourt,” Alfyn begins. “And I want to travel. I can swing an axe all right and I can patch up any injury you might get. I’m handy with concoctions to stop any critters that might give you trouble and-” 

“I’m not questioning that you’re useful,” Therion interrupts. “But what’s in it for you?” 

This at least seems to give Alfyn pause. His smile fades a little as his brow creases in thought. He doesn’t reply right away and Therion takes a moment to look him over, noting the self-stitched repairs on his clothes, the haircut that he must have done himself without a mirror, the way his posture is at ease and his bag just sat beside him, unguarded. He’s the sort of person that gets Therion through the hard days. Easy pickings. The sort of man who gets found dead in a ditch with nary a scrap of clothing on him. 

“What’s in it for me?” Alfyn repeats slowly. “Shucks, I hadn’t thought about that.” 

It’s not hard to believe it. Therion isn’t sure if he should be amused or horrified. He raises his flagon and drains the last of his mead while Alfyn thinks, finally beginning to relax. This will be it, then. Alfyn will realise he’s too good a boy to help a criminal and he’ll excuse himself. He’ll probably give up on the idea of travelling, too. He’s too close to his friends to leave this place, gods know it made Therion sick watching the affectionate way they interacted with each other. Yes, it’s far better to finish this drink and go. He has places to be and work to do, work best done alone. 

“Well, who cares?” 

Alfyn, apparently, has other ideas. He gives Therion a slow grin across the table and Therion’s composure begins to crack. 

“There’s nothin’ I really want, anyhow,” Alfyn continues. “Just someone to talk to on the road is enough for me.” 

“Are you serious?” Therion mumbles into his scarf. Alfyn either doesn’t hear or chooses to ignore him. 

“So I need to know more about you, Therion,” he continues cheerfully and the liberal use of his name is starting to make Therion nauseous. “I’m not askin’ for your life story, now. Just regular stuff. What makes you happy, what ticks you off, that sort of thing.” 

“That’s not necessary,” Therion says coldly, meeting Alfyn’s eyes. 

Alfyn holds his gaze and although his warm brown eyes are kind there’s a certain hardness to them, a stubbornness that allows no room for argument. 

“To me it is,” he insists, tone edged with steel. 

As far as Therion sees it, he has two choices. Either he can make himself clear right now and leave or they can go around in circles all night. It’s been a long day. He doesn’t much feel like playing these games with someone who doesn’t know the rules. His cup is empty and he’s ready to be alone. That settles it. 

“I helped you because I felt like it,” he says, rising to his feet. “That’s it. Not everything has a reason. Don’t look too much into it.” 

Alfyn’s smile doesn’t waver and Therion can’t take it anymore. As he leaves the table and heads to the door, Alfyn calls after him. 

“See you in the morning, Therion!” 

Therion has absolutely no intention of doing so but he has the sinking feeling that no matter what time he chooses to leave, Alfyn will be there waiting. 

In a shadowy corner of the inn in Noblecourt, Therion sits down with the first drink he’s been able to have alone in over a week. 

He’s spoken more since Alfyn forcibly joined him on the road than he has in years, been dragged into conversation after conversation, been complimented and praised, been asked question after question. He’s _exhausted_. Tomorrow he’s going to retrieve the Ruby Dragonstone. He could have done it today but he knows he’s not at his sharpest. He needs rest. Most of all. he needs time away from Alfyn. 

The man himself is currently in a room upstairs, tending to some random traveller who had fallen and injured their back. Therion has never met someone so tireless. If he’s not rambling on and on about whatever idle thought flutters into his head he’s talking to strangers and offering his help. If there’s no one to help and Therion flat out refuses to talk to him he’s buried in his books or concocting potions and salves. Every morning he’s there with a bright smile and a hopeful light in his eyes, excited for what the day might bring. Therion’s been waiting for disappointment to hit him, for the day he realises the world isn’t the kind place he thinks it is, but so far Alfyn has been nothing but merry. 

Optimists are the absolute worst. They make Therion feel sick to his stomach, make him remember days he wishes he could forget. 

Tonight, Therion is drinking wine. It’s the cheap stuff and it burns on the way down. Therion throws back another glass with a grimace, the chain from the bangle clinking against his arm, another constant reminder of the futility of trust. The inn is quiet. When he listens carefully, he can hear Alfyn’s laughter echoing down through the floorboards. No doubt the idiot that got himself hurt is feeling better, physically and emotionally, and is thanking Alfyn for his kindness. 

“Tch.” 

It must be nice. Having someone give a damn about whether you live or die. What a rose-tinted world to live in. It’s not one he’ll ever be able to inhabit. When Alfyn does reappear sometime later, it feels to Therion as if the whole room brightens with his presence and he instinctively tucks himself a little further into the corner. 

“You okay?” Alfyn asks, sitting across from him. “You look a little off-colour.” 

Therion forces himself to relax his posture and flashes Alfyn a bitter smile. 

“I’m fine,” he lies. “Worry about yourself.” 

Alfyn’s smile widens as if Therion has told a delightful joke. 

“Why would I do that?” he laughs. “I’m grand. Want me to order us some food? Apparently the lamb they serve here is incredible. Gotta get our strength up for tomorrow, right?” 

Probably a recommendation from the traveller upstairs. Therion loses any appetite he might have had. 

“I already told you,” Therion says firmly. “You’re not coming with me.” 

“Of course I am.” 

They lock eyes, Alfyn with an unwavering smile and Therion with a scowl. His heart beats uncomfortably hard in his chest as if he’s been running. Moments like this have been happening several times a day. Alfyn will say something so unflinchingly supportive that Therion can’t find any suitable words to shoot him down. While he struggles Alfyn will just watch him with that honest, benevolent smile and Therion is left feeling like the man can see right through him, is searching for all his old wounds and planning on ways to heal them. First with smiles and questions, then with lamb dinners and hot breakfasts, and the gods only knew what would come next. 

He doesn’t want any of it. But, as the chains on his wrist remind him, free will is a thing of the past. 

“Do what you want,” he hisses, turning back to his bottle. 

He hates them, these intimate moments he never asked for. They leave him unsettled and off-kilter. He could really do with less of them. 

Before long Therion’s wish comes to pass, only it’s not in the way he would have chosen. 

First it’s Ophilia. Therion swears that Alfyn nearly cries to hear of her predicament and so there’s no way they _aren’t_ going to help her. She’s a sweet girl, if naïve, and so Therion doesn’t complain as they help her collect her Lanthorn but he does speak up when she announces she will be travelling with them. A cleric of the church shouldn’t be in the company of someone like him. 

“Aren’t you worried about your reputation?” he asks that first evening. “Your faith?” 

She just smiles, and just like Alfyn there’s a strong, hard edge to the expression, one that can’t be broken. 

“Not at all,” she tells him, and that’s that. 

Two idiots on the road aren’t much worse than one. Therion resolves to manage. 

Next comes H’aanit. Of course Alfyn love ;S’warkii for being close to nature and Ophilia loves Linde for being soft and fluffy and the three of them are so busy talking that they don’t hear his complaints at all. 

H’annit is impossible to talk to. After they leave the woods they run into a gang of ruffians and he finds her watching him as he brings one down. A swift jab to the throat, a knee to the groin, and then a knife in the back of a leg. A swift, dirty dispatch. 

“Thou didst fight with courage,” she tells him sincerely. 

He honestly doesn’t know how to answer. It’s often like this. It’s not just the way she speaks but the way she’s so disconnected from the world Therion lives in. Although less air-headed than the other two but she’s still naïve, with a strong sense of justice, and they have difficulty understanding one another. But she’s useful, at least, she can handle any beasts they encounter with ease. For this reason, he tells himself, Therion accepts her as part of the group. 

It’s noisy of an evening but it’s fine. At least Alfyn has other people to bother. Therion can handle the clamour in return for being left mostly alone. 

Then along comes Tressa. Bright, enthusiastic, outspoken Tressa. The young merchant with a heart of literal gold. Oh how she gets on his nerves from the moment they meet, his opposite in every conceivable way, and once they’ve helped her with her pirate problem and she’s joined them on the road she wastes no time in telling him exactly what she thinks of his career choice. 

“Are you going to pay that old lady back or do I have to make you?” 

“Why, are you offering to pay her for me? How generous.” 

“Why, you..!” 

They bicker frequently. The only thing standing between them and a real argument is that she’s easy to wind up and Therion delights in irritating her. But the girls like her for her honesty and Alfyn likes her because, well, he likes _everyone_ and somehow he manages to keep them from killing one another. Life on the road becomes noisy and depressingly cheerful but _fine,_ it isn’t going to last forever, he can cope. 

But more is to come. Just as Therion’s convinced himself that Alfyn is building some kind of harem – and fair play to him for having the guts to do it - Cyrus joins them. Cyrus is...different. Intelligent. The man can hold a conversation. And while his morals aren’t loose, as per say, he’s more interested in the ‘why’ and ‘how’ than the ‘what’ and doesn’t seem to judge Therion too harshly. It’s both refreshing and unsettling. 

“Mysteries exist only to be solved!” he likes to announce whenever the opportunity presents itself. 

Therion resolves to not become one of the mysteries that Cyrus so wants to unravel and so long as he manages that he thinks things will be fine. And although Alfyn is still distracted by lively conversation of an evening, Therion finds himself in discussion with Cyrus late into the night more often than not. He doesn’t hate it as much as he would have suspected. 

Some small treacherous part of him sort of misses being able to mock Alfyn’s endless smile, misses watching him stick his tongue out as he grinds up new pastes and tinctures, and so he crushes the feeling down until he forgets it exists. 

Olberic follows soon after. He’s quiet enough, serious, and other than his preoccupation with honour he’s not too irritating to have around. He treats the girls well, distracts Tressa often enough to give Therion some breathing room, and takes the heat off of the rest of them in battle. He has some scars, not just the kind that mark his skin, Therion can tell just by looking at him. But he doesn’t offer stories and he doesn’t ask for them either and that’s just fine. One night soon after he joins, the group spend a night playing cards and gambling for small change and Therion isn’t quite sure why he takes part only that somehow this has become _normal_ for him. 

Sometimes he thinks of Cordelia, alone with Heathcote in that big old mansion. Sometimes he’s envious of her. Most of the time he tries not to think at all, focusses on what he has to do to get rid of the damn shackle on his wrist, and if playing nice with these people will help then so be it. 

Sometimes he catches Alfyn watching him at the bar, an unusually soft smile on his lips. He tries not to think about that either. 

Their merry band of misfits travels to the Sunlands and it’s...difficult. Stuck in a desert with six do-gooders. Therion wonders if he’s actually strayed into hell. The town of Sunshade only furthers this impression. Tight alleyways scattered with beggars, shifty-eyes merchants with stolen wares, dancing girls with bruises on their pale skin. It’s a familiar sort of misery. He’s highly entertained by Tressa’s outrage over everything they encounter there right up until they meet Primrose. 

"This is my problem, not yours. But...I suppose you're free to do as you please.” 

She’s different to the rest. Her eyes are like his own. _Do what you want,_ right? And so he doesn’t complain too bitterly when the others inevitably offer to help her, isn’t even surprised when she agrees to accompany them for as long as her mission allows her to. 

It’s a little, bitter taste of home. But unlike him Primrose blends in with the others seamlessly, laughs and pours drinks and dances as if she’s not weighed down by dark clouds just as he is. He’s not sure if he respects or hates her for it. 

And time passes. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow, ever flowing and ever changing. He doesn’t mean to grow close to any of them but he can’t avoid conversation forever, not when they’re all so persistent. After a while he comes to tolerate all of them. They all have their own miseries, their own secrets - except perhaps Tressa who has little more than a coin rattling around in her otherwise empty skull – but they get along well enough. More often than not they all spend the evening together, planning the journey ahead over food and drink. Sometimes Ophilia beats them all at cards. Sometimes Primrose dances for them. Very rarely he lets Alfyn treat his wounds but only where no one else can see. 

“You don’t have to be shy you know,” Alfyn says one such night, gently bandaging a nasty gash on Therion’s arm. “They won’t make fun of you.” 

“It’s not about that. I don’t care what they think.” 

“Then why only let me see?” 

Well. He doesn’t have an answer for that. He only knows that it’s just about okay to let Alfyn see him like this, probably because they’ve been together the longest, or because he poses the least threat. He doesn’t dwell on it. There’s too much else going on to think properly anyway. 

Somehow or other they find their way back to the alehouse in Noblecourt where Primrose has been attending business of her own. Therion has started to think that Alfyn has grown bored of prodding him for friendship now that he has more willing company but tonight the others have gone to bed and instead of joining them, Alfyn sits down next to him and slings an arm across the back of his chair. Therion throws him a questioning glance and is given a wide grin in return. 

"It's gotten real lively around here, huh?” Alfyn says warmly. Therion sighs, refusing to take the bait. 

“Too lively,” he mumbles. 

Of course, Alfyn laughs, not believing him at all. Therion should have expected as much. He stares coldly over at Alfyn but the man just smiles back, arm still casually across Therion’s chair, his body language open and friendly. Personal space is something Therion is apparently not entitled to and he’s learned by now that no amount of glaring is going to change that. He sighs and relaxes back into his chair. 

“You’re having fun, aren’t you?” he asks. Alfyn nods. 

“Well yeah, we’ve got ourselves a good bunch of people!” He reaches across with his free arm to nudge Therion in the shoulder. “I bet you’ve been too busy having fun to pick pockets, eh?” 

Hah. Poor, trusting Alfyn. Therion allows himself a half-smile and reaches into his pocket to pull out a small bracelet made of braided string and holds it up between them. 

“I can do both,” he says, unable to keep smugness out of his voice. 

Alfyn stares at the bracelet for a moment and then his eyes widen not in anger but _wonder_ like a kid who’s just seen a magic trick. 

“Hey!” he says. “That’s mine!” 

“Yep.” Therion holds onto it for a moment longer before tossing it towards Alfyn who catches it in one large hand. “You should pay more attention.” 

“Apparently I should,” Alfyn agrees with a laugh and Therion begins to wonder if it’s even possible for him to get angry. “You really are a master at this, aren’t you? That was right at the bottom of my bag. I never even noticed.” 

“You weren’t supposed to notice,” Therion says, reaching for his drink and pausing with his lips on the rim of the mug. 

He shouldn’t ask. He doesn’t even want to know. The only reason he hasn’t stood up and left Alfyn on his own is because he has a drink to finish. He doesn’t _like & _sitting this close, being so companionable, acting like they’re anything more than travelling companions. But...Alfyn is just smiling at him like some stupid puppy, inviting conversation. Therion hesitates and then raises his voice in question. 

“What is it?” he asks. “The bracelet. Did you leave a girl back home?” 

Alfyn’s answering laugh is so loud that Therion flinches. 

“Of course not,” he says. “I’d have told you if I had.” 

He would have, Therion thinks. He really would have. He’s even honest to gods blushing at having been asked. He’s so _embarrassing._ Therion barely resists the urge to retreat into his scarf and out of the conversation as Alfyn continues to speak. 

“It’s a friendship bracelet. Me and my buddy Zeph made them together when we were small. There used to be dried flowers and things in there too but we didn’t know how to preserve them properly back then so they crumbled away long ago. Zeph made one for me and I made one for him. I’m not as dextrous as him, though, so I got the better end of the bargain.” 

Alfyn sounds different to usual. Therion watches him from the corner of his eye as he talks and finds it strangely hard to look away. Perhaps it’s just a trick of the light but Alfyn looks softer somehow, his brown eyes affectionate and warm. Something about it tugs at part of Therion’s heart that should have died long ago. It’s an uncomfortable feeling. He takes a deep draught of ale to try and wash it down. 

“Zeph’s has probably fallen apart by now,” Alfyn continues heedlessly. “I don’t know if he even still has it.” 

There’s something sad about the way he says it, something homesick. Therion’s never heard him sound like that in front of the others. Perhaps it’s a sort of wound that he’s not willing to show anyone else. Therion waits a moment to see if Alfy ;is going to change the topic, humming in thought when he doesn’t. There’s probably something tactful he’s supposed to say and so of course he states the obvious instead. 

“You miss him.” 

Shocked, Alfyn finally turns to look at him. They stare at one another for a moment before a smile spreads across his features again, one filled with gratitude and fondness. Therion’s chest hurts to be on the receiving end of such a smile. 

“Yeah,” Alfyn says softly. “I do. Haven’t you got anyone like that?” 

_No._ That’s how he should answer. Maybe _don’t be stupid_ or _I don’t need anyone else_. Instead Therion’s words dry up and he’s momentarily frozen in place, mug halfway to his lips. Because no, he doesn’t have anyone like that but that doesn’t mean that there’s nobody he misses. He misses a person that never really existed to begin with. He misses the lie that he had been living before everything went wrong. 

The scar between his ribs begins to ache. He presses a hand to it under the cover of his poncho and shakes his head. 

“No,” he says sharply. “I haven’t.” 

He expects Alfyn to say something sympathetic. To pity him. To disbelieve him. Any of those things would be easier to deal with than the way his smile falters as if Therion has slighted him somehow. He can’t stand it. 

It means something, that look. Therion has no interest in staying to work out what that might be. 

“I’m going to bed.” 

He hurries out of the room, leaving a half-finished drink behind. Alfyn doesn’t call after him but that’s fine because he doesn’t look back either. 

He doesn’t sleep much that night. His own voice echoes in his head. 

_You miss him._

Alfyn misses something pure. Therion knows that he misses something wretched instead. In the early hours of the morning he stares into the grey dawn light and wonders if Alfyn would miss him if he chose to leave. The only answer he can reach is frightening. 

Alfyn might just be foolish enough to miss someone as hopeless as him. And while Therion is cold he’s not cruel. However much his own emotions churn and tighten, however much this growing closeness scares him, he’s going to have to stay. 

Goldshore is a good town. It has a lively populace with deep enough pockets and an ever-present Easterly breeze. Something about the air here feels fresh and always helps him clear his thoughts. However this visit is far from peaceful, both Alfyn and Ophilia finding themselves busy in the business of helping people, and while Ophilia’s work is simple enough Alfyn’ is...complicated. 

Today of all days Therion had been sure he would see Alfyn’s optimism finally break. The woman, Vanessa, she’s the sort of person Therion is used to, the sort he’s been trying to warn Alfyn about. But far from being depressed by her lies, Alfyn is spurred into action. There’s a righteous anger burning bright in his eyes that Therion has trouble looking away from. It’s fascinating, and troubling, and so it’s _satisfying_ bringing Vanessa to rights. Therion has half a mind to take her out once and for all but Alfyn seems to have a plan of his own, pricking the woman with Slumberthorn and turning her over to the authorities. 

That, he thinks, is that. Another chapter over and done. It’s not until they’re relaxing in the inn that evening that Alfyn outlines the finer properties of Slumberthorn, admits to dosing the woman with nightmares with a certain amount of glee in his voice and Therion is utterly taken by surprise. Alfyn doesn’t _do_ things like that. He’s always above board and proper, however clumsy and crude his actions might be. This is something else entirely. It’s vengeance of a kind, even if Alfyn has the best of intentions. It’s almost mischievous. He’s never seen this side of Alfyn before. 

And so help him, Therion _likes_ it. 

Of course he isn’t going to say so. Not directly. Giving a direct compliment makes him feel anxious and so he does it as little as possible. Instead he buys Alfyn most of his drinks for the evening, doesn’t move seat when Alfyn sits beside him, actually forces himself to take part in the group’s conversations. It’s not a lot, he knows, but it’s something. Alfyn realises what he’s doing because of course he does, he always notices the things Therion would rather he didn’t, and so he buys Therion just as many drinks in return. The outcome is unexpected. 

They’re both a little drunk. _That_ part isn’t a surprise, they’ve been drinking for long enough that everyone else has turned in for the night. The surprise is that they haven’t moved seats even though there are plenty of empty chairs ready for the taking. The surprise is that Therion doesn’t even want to. He’s not sure when Alfyn had moved his chair close enough that they became pressed side to side. He can’t remember leaning in to rest his shoulder against Alfyn’s chest. At some point they had stopped talking and started just sitting quietly together and Therion can’t for the life of him remember what they had been talking about either. 

The entirety of his ale-fogged mind is focused on Alfyn. On the warmth of Alfyn’s body against his arm. On the way his chest rises and falls with his breathing. On the sight of his hand just resting on his own knee, the callouses on his fingers, the traces of old burns and cuts. Therion is so busy watching this hand that he doesn’t see Alfyn move the other to swing across the back of his chair and downwards, wrapping his arm around Therion’s shoulders. 

Therion freezes. It’s been so long since he has been held that he has no idea how to react. He glances over at Alfyn’s face, certain he’s going to find a teasing grin or something even more dangerous but Alfy ;is still looking across at the bar as if nothing has changed at all. Therion isn’t sure if he’s doing it intentionally or if he doesn’t realise what he’s just done but he stays quiet, needing a moment to breathe. 

It’s just a touch. It’s only Alfyn. Ye ;his heart is beating so loud it’s drowning out the sound of the crowd in the bar but that’s his problem, that’s not something Alfyn would do on purpose, he’s not in _danger_. It’s... 

It’s nothing like the way Darius had used to hold him. 

His grip had been tight, possessive, controlling. He had always pulled Therion close like a prize, like some sort of trophy. His touch had been every bit as cold as his heart had turned out to be. But Alfyn is different. Alfyn’s hands are warm and gentle, a comforting weight that only rests on him as much as he lets it. Alfyn isn’t demanding anything of him. It’s terribly inviting, a touch like that. He tenses up at the thought, digging his own hands into his thighs. 

This movement is what catches Alfyn’s attention. Therion keeps his eyes forward but he can see Alfyn in his peripheral vision, the way he looks down to Therion’s white-knuckled grip on his legs, the way the corners of his lips turn downwards as if it’s the saddest thing he’s ever seen. 

“Therion...” 

His voice is gentle, guileless, and gods Therion can’t stand it. 

“Sorry.” 

He pushes Alfyn’s arm away and gets to his feet, stumbling a little in his hurry to step away. Alfyn follows suit and he doesn’t look insulted or hurt only confused and it’s too kind, it’s too _much._

“What? You don’t have to apo-” 

“I should go.” 

He manages to make it to the bottom of the stairs before Alfyn catches up and although he reaches out he doesn’t touch Therion at all. It’s this that makes Therion stop, one foot on the bottom stair. 

“Hey,” Alfyn says gently. “Wait a minute.” 

Therion can’t leave it like this. He’s really not a cruel person even though it would be easier. 

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he murmurs, throwing Alfyn one nervous glance before looking away. “Leave it at that. Okay? I need to go.” 

Alfyn hesitates but then lets his hand fall with a sigh. 

“All right,” he says. “You just call me if you need anything.” 

He really means it. Therion has no doubt that if he was to change to his mind, to ask Alfyn to sit with him again, to hold him again, that Alfyn would do so even without being given an apology. He knows this feeling, the way the embers of his heart are beginning to glow. It terrifies him. 

“Mm,” he manages. “Yeah. I will.” 

He won’t. They both know it. But for the first time he thinks he might want to. 

They don’t talk about it in the days that follow. Alfyn’s too considerate and Therion’s too proud. Before he knows it the time to discuss it has long passed and there are other things to think about, battles to fight and people to help, comrades to support and places to explore. For a time everything is normal, as normal as it can be while travelling with these people anyway, and Therion finds a kind of contentment that doesn’t scare him too much. 

He won’t call them friends. Not yet. But he would miss them if he were to leave now. Admitting that to himself is a good enough start. 

And it’s not that he doesn’t think about Alfyn at all. In fact he spends quite a lot of time thinking about the apothecary, about the way he makes him feel, about all the conversations they’ve had and the moments they’ve shared. Most of all Therion thinks of all the things he wished he hadn’t said and tries to forget the things he wished he had. He’s not ready to confront any of it. At least Alfyn is the same as ever, reliable and caring as always. Therion takes a hesitant comfort in that. He should have known it would crumble the moment he tried to hold it in his tainted hands. 

They reach Saintsbridge and everything changes for Alfyn. To begin with, it's business as usual. Alfyn is as selfless as always and the rest of them leave him to tend his newest patient and get on with their own business in town. Therion lets Ophilia drag him around and show him the sights and he’s about to slip away for some less wholesome activity when they all hear a commotion in town, He rushes along with the rest of them to find out what’s going on and he freezes once he can see. 

Alfyn’s patient, the one he had insisted on treating, with a knife to a child’s throat. Therion isn’t surprised. He gave up on trusting people long ago. That doesn’t make it hurt any less when he looks at Alfyn, at the absolute shock and betrayal painted all over his face, Therion has always known this day would come but gods it's _awful_ to witness. Alfyn is frozen as Miguel takes the child into the woods and Therion is frozen watching Alfyn’s world begin to crumble. 

The others step in and Therion has never been more grateful. From that terrible still moment there’s a flurry of action. It’s not often that Therion feels a sense of urgency like this and he’s caught up in the moment. He stays close to Alfyn’s side as they rush into the woods, fights harder than anyone when attempts to resolve this without violence pass, sees the way Alfyn deals the killing blow and how it crushes him inside. 

Everyone tries to comfort him after. Although he forces a smile it’s easy to see that he’s shaken up. Therion waits until each of the others have exhausted all their attempts to ease the mood and go to bed before addressing the issue. This time it’s him that moves his chair closer. Alfyn barely looks up at his approach and that’s reason enough for Therion to talk. He’s never been one for subtlety and so he pours Alfyn another cup of mead and dives right in. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“But-" 

“No buts,” he interrupts. “You did the right thing.” 

Alfyn is speechless for a moment and then reaches out for his cup. He raises it just high enough to cover his mouth before answering. 

“But it all went wrong,” he says softly. 

There’s a vulnerable tone to his voice that Therion has never heard before. He resolves to be direct as possible so that he doesn’t need to hear it again. 

“Good intentions don’t guarantee good results.” 

“Then what about bad intentions?” 

For once Alfyn’s answer is quick and contrary. Therion knows what this is about. He’s having trouble understanding Miguel, wanting to hate him but also wanting to value the life of every person. It’s a topic Therion had thought would come up between them at the start of this journey, given his own situation. As such he has an answer ready. 

“They guarantee food on the table,” he says with a shrug. “That’s about it. Some people can’t afford more than that.” 

Alfyn takes a long draught of mead and sets the cup back down before turning his eyes on Therion properly. Gods but there’s a well of emotions in his eyes tonight, a churning maelstrom of honesty and goodness, and Therion feels for one ludicrous moment that he’s going to fall into that chaos and drown. Alfyn speaks and brings him back to earth. 

“And that’s good enough for you?” he asks. 

It stings a little. He pushes that aside and shrugs again. 

“It was good enough for Miguel.” 

“But you’re not like him,” Alfyn argues. 

“How do you figure that?” 

“You don’t hurt people.” 

Therion could argue that. He prefers not to use violence, true, he’s much better at using his skills to steal without ever being noticed. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t hurt people. He’s sure to have stolen sentimental objects, money that was being saved for some important purpose, things that can’t be replaced. He usually doesn’t think about it but travelling with these people brings it to the forefront of his mind quite often. He’s at peace with it. Always has been. 

“Yeah?” he answers with a soft laugh. “Tell Tressa that.” 

Alfyn leans in a little closer, beginning to smile. 

“I thought you didn’t care what people think?” he asks. 

“I don’t.” 

He _doesn’t._ Tressa can call him a scoundrel all she likes, at least he has a brain and knows how to use it. Sowhat if he had stormed off after their last argument? That doesn’t mean anything. They probably didn’t even notice he was gone. He should probably leave, let Alfyn find comfort with someone else. He’s not cut out for things like this and he’s a fool for thinking he could make a different, a failure of a thief and a wretch of a man, every bit as worthless and valueless as Miguel, a good for nothing and a- 

“Therion.” 

Alfyn’s gentle voice breaks him out of the spiral. Therion comes back to himself to find his hands tightly gripping his cup, his gaze fixed in the middle distance. 

“You try not to hurt people,” Alfyn continued softly. “That’s a hell of a lot more important than you seem to think. _You’re_ important.” 

How the conversation had turned on its head he has no idea. Serves him right for thinking he could actually comfort Alfyn, that he should consider offering anything at all. Now he’s the one being comforted and it’s the last thing he wants. His eyes sting. Must be the oil lamps running low. He wants to point it out but Alfyn doesn’t give him a chance. 

“Tress was readl worried she’d upset you,” he insists. “She’s just too stubborn to say it to your face.” 

That...sounds reasonable, actually. Much simpler than the dark thoughts that follow him after every dispute with one of the others. It’s humiliating that someone as simple as Alfyn had needed to point it out to him. Therion bravely meets his eyes and clicks his tongue. 

“Tch. As if a kid like her could upset me.” 

He had intended to come across as tough or cold. Instead Alfyn begins laughing and oh how Therion hadn’t realised he had missed the sound. Alfyn’s laugh is always warm, a great rolling joyful sound that seems to brighten the room. Therion can do nothing but stare at him as he laughs, a soft smile making its way onto his lips despite his best efforts. As Alfyn’s laughter begins to subside he raises his cup in a wordless toast. Therion raises his own without hesitation. 

““You’re more like her than Miguel,” Alfyn teases. “Stubborn and headstrong like a kid.” 

“Quiet, you.” 

Alfyn is one to talk. But at least he’s feeling better and smiling again. Therion takes a drink along with him and they fall into easy conversation, darker thoughts and topics dispelled. Therion knows it’s not a coincidence that he sleeps better than night than he has in years.

The comfort doesn’t last long. Pursuing his own purpose, he takes the group to Wellspring and his new world is shattered into pieces. Darius takes it from him, as well as the Dragonstones, as well as what little pride he’s managed to hold onto. He breaks down that night and he tells them everything, all of them, the travelling group and Cordelia too, and although he’s never felt so small and wretched he’s never felt so valued either. 

Nobody laughs. Not a single one of them. None of them look down on him in pity. They tell him that he’s brave and strong and that they’ll do anything they can to help. Alfyn puts him to bed with the reasoning of checking him over after such a traumatic day but he doesn’t check much at all, mostly crouches by the bed and holds his hand in charged silence until Therion closes his eyes. 

There’s no time to talk the next day. The others are filled with enthusiasm for helping him and he lets himself be caught up in it for once. They head for Northreach and the day is chaotic and exhausting. He tries to act instead of overthink, pushes past the barriers he’s thrown up in his own heart, says things that he would never have considered before this, things that are embarrassing but true. Ultimately he’s able to defeat the living shadow of his past with his friends, his _future_ , at his side. 

And he doesn’t kill Darius at the end of it all. Revenge would do nothing but make the wounds fester for longer. _You try not to hurt people_ Alfyn had said and it’s shocking to find that it’s true. 

With the Dragonstones in hand they all head back to the inn to rest and there’s a sort of impromptu party in his honour. It’s _exhausting._ Ophilia and Tressa actually _hug_ him and he’s so unprepared that he just stands there like an idiot and lets them do it. H’aanit and Olberic& shake his hand, looking as uncomfortable as he does to be doing so, so it’s bearable. Cyrus and Primrose show their affection differently, Cyrus telling him some story from history about honourable thieves and Primrose never letting his cup be empty for longer than an instant. 

Alfyn is more forward than any of them. He talks, and laughs, and heaps Therion in praises, and insists they stay up all night. There’s a message there, maybe, and so Therion makes sure to stay up until the others excuse themselves despite being weary in body in mind both. Once they’re alone, he makes the first move by buying Alfyn a drink and moving his chair closer. This time Alfyn doesn’t make any move to touch him. It’s kind and considerate and Therion stupidly wishes he would be rude and do it anyway. 

They sit quietly for a while, Therion’s eyes on Alfyn more than on his drink, trying to silently will the man into moving. He can’t remember the last time he had even wanted to touch someone. It’s been so many years that he’s almost forgotten how it feels. He can see the way Alfyn’s chest rises and falls with his breathing and has the most ludicrous urge to press his hand to it only his muscles won’t comply. His hands, the tools of his trade, able to bring the wealthy to their knees, won’t do a single thing he asks of them. He twitches one finger, inches his hand across the table closer to Alfyn, and is trying to summon the bravery to reach out when Alfyn speaks and throws him off. 

“I’m proud of you.” 

“Huh?” 

It’s not a dignified sound to make. Alfyn gives him such a warm smile that he has to swallow past a sudden lump in his throat in order to reply properly. 

“You...are?” 

“Yep.” 

Alfyn finally raises his arm and slips it around Therion’s shoulders, urges him a little closer, and this time Therion makes no effort to resist him. Gods but it’s terrifying, this closeness, being this open, but there’s a thrill in it too. He doesn’t care what people think, that’s what he had said. In truth he just tries to not care. When it comes to Alfyn, he realises he cares a whole lot. This man has stuck by his side through all of this chaos, while having a crisis of his own, and has been nothing but kind towards him. Therion wants to repay that somehow. He wants whatever it is that this is leading to. 

“Do you wanna know why?” Alfyn asks when he takes too long to respond. 

“I...” 

He can make an educated guess. But he doesn’t want to, distracted both by the warmth of Alfyn's body against his own and by the way Alfyn reaches out with his free hand to hold one of Therion’s. He stares at their hands on the table, fingers loosely tangled, his own skin seeming dark against Alfyn’s. It’s an unreal sight. He can’t tear his eyes away. 

“Is it embarrassing?” he murmurs quietly. 

Alfyn laughs at that, leans in to bump his head against Therion’s. 

“Damn right it is.” 

Alfyn doesn’t move away. His hair is very soft against Therion’s forehead. Therion dares to raise his eyes away from their hands to find Alfyn’s very close indeed. He can’t say anything as he finds his gaze drifting to Alfyn’s lips, something he’s never paid much attention to before, and he feels an unfamilliar twisting in his stomach. Alfyn gives his hand a squeeze and begins to close his eyes and oh, _oh,_ Therion knows what he’s doing and even if he invited this he’s not sure he wants it. Not yet. He raises a hand between them, lays his fingers gently over Alfyn’s lips. 

“Then,” he says quietly. “I’ll pass for now.” 

For a moment Therion is terrified that Alfyn is going to react badly but of course that’s stupid, this is _Alfyn_ after all. He hesitates a moment before pressing a featherlight kiss to Therion’s fingers and then leaning back in his seat. As he settles back, Therion notes the colour high in his cheeks, even his ears blushing red. He summons all of his strength and gives Alfyn’s hand a squeeze in turn. 

“Really embarrassing,” he says. 

“Right?”Alfyn laughs and there’s real warmth in the sound, relief almost. “Just the thought of it has got even you blushin’.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, I don’t...” 

His cheeks are hot to the touch. Therion swiftly lowers his hand from his face and grasps for his cup, mortified. 

“It’s been a long couple of days,” Alfyn says kindly, reaching back for his own cup. “How about we finish this off and get some rest?” 

“I’ll drink to that.” 

And so they do. Therion keeps hold of Alfyn’s hand until they part in the stairwell and his dreams that night are sweeter than ever before. 

Just like his own, everyone’s stories soon come to an end. 

It’s a chaotic few weeks, the eight of them running from place to place with urgency, fighting until their bodies ache and their hearts are tired of feeling. Despite all the darkness each of them must face Therion finds a sort of comfort in it all. No matter who suffers, no matter who falls to weakness, the rest of the group always rush in to prop them up again. He takes a measure of pride in being part of that. He’s not going to change his way of life, sooner or later he’ll go back to what he knows best, but for now he’s happy to help. Now that his own heart is healing he has no regrets at all about helping any of them. 

They’re back in Noblecourt when he’s next left alone with Alfyn. He orders the same cheap wine as before only this time with two glasses. They sit close, laugh about how terrible the wine tastes, and before he can talk himself out of it Therion reaches out for Alfyn’s hand first. 

And nothing happens. They hold hands and drink and talk until it’s time to head to bed. And it’s _wonderful_ , the lack of pressure, the way he’s being left to call the shots. Soon, he promises himself once they part ways. Soon he’ll confront his feelings and do _something._ It’s strangely liberating to have the choice especially when the choice is between his friends and his...well, whatever Alfyn is to him now. He’s never been in such a position before and he doesn’t want to give it up too soon. 

He’s going to miss these days. He knows that for certain. And so he makes the most of them while he can, rises early in the morning to share breakfast with the others, and doesn’t run from Alfyn’s smiles. 

And treacherous time passes too quickly. Primrose leaves them in Noblecourt. The rest follow one by one. 

It’s not goodbye forever. They all assure him of that. It hurts more than he had expected it would regardless. He allows each of the girls to hug him when they say goodbye, even giving Tressa a little squeeze and waving at her parents. He gets a hug from Cyrus too and a book slipped clumsily into his pocket as a gift. Olberic claps him on the shoulder and tells him to take care of himself with such a fatherly tone in his voice that it actually makes Therion laugh. Each parting is bittersweet but inevitable. He manages to not do anything as embarrassing as cry but he does accept that he has regrets as each one leaves, wishes he had made the most of his time with them. They’ve changed him, every one of them, and although he’s more vulnerable now he knows he’s stronger in every way that matters. One day he’ll find a way to thank them for it. He promises them all this if only in the confines of his own head. 

Soon enough it’s back to being just the two of them on the road, They take their time through the Frostlands and into the Riverlands and for a while it’s nostalgic. The same sorts of ruffians and monsters giving them trouble, just Alfyn’s axe and his dagger to keep them safe. It’s more difficult with just the pair of them, sure, but there’s something nice about it too. He doesn’t put his defences up around Alfyn anymore. He’s not sure when he had stopped. All he does know is that they often travel along the same roads they had first walked on together only this time instead of awkward silence Alfyn talks constantly and holds his hand whenever he permits it. 

It’s nice. Really nice. He’s dreading reaching Clearbrook and having to say goodbye but even though he’s come so far he’s not sure how to stop the inevitable from happening. And so he holds Alfyn’ hand tightly whenever he feels brave enough, makes sure to think before he speaks to keep himself from falling into old habits, and works hard to keep Alfyn safe in battle. 

Which doesn’t always work. Sometimes he’s too awkward to hold hands and sometimes he answers on impulse with something sharp. Alfyn finds it hilarious which is both frustrating and relieving. Sometimes he can’t stop Alfyn from being clumsy and getting himself mauled by a monster. Without Ophilia to turn to, Therion takes it upon himself to rifle through Alfyn’s satchel and start tending to his wounds as soon as they’re in an inn room. 

Alfyn is _delighted._ He looks so pleased that Therion has to stop looking at his face. Thankfully Alfyn stays quiet as Therion goes about the motions and remains so right up until he’s finishing securing the bandage around his arm. He leans back on the bed they’re both sitting on with one hand and holds his injured arm up before him, whistling in approval. 

“You’re better at this than I’d expected,” he says at last. Therion sighs. 

“I’m good with my hands. That’s all.” 

“Yeah, I know that,” Alfyn agrees, “but that’s a darn good looking bandage you’ve wrapped there. It’s just the same as I’d have done it and...” 

Oh no. This is terrible. Alfyn’s eyes go very wide and his smile follows soon after. Therion freezes in place as if he’s been caught in the middle of a robbery only this is worse, he can’t actually run away from this one. He sets about putting away the medical supplies, keeping himself busy, while Alfyn keeps grinning like an idiot. 

“You,” he says proudly. “Have been watchin’ me.” 

“ _Tch_.” 

He can’t deny it, not when he’s been doing so _well_ at not lying. Still it’s embarrassing and he attempts to hide as much of his face in his scarf as possible. Alfyn zips up the medical kit and moves it away and then reaches out to tug at Therion’s scarf. 

“If you wanted to learn you could have just asked,” he says gently. 

“I _don’t_ want to.” 

“Then why’re you helpin’ me instead of askin’ someone else to do it?” 

He has a point. In the early days he would have pawned Alfyn off on some random stranger. Things are different now. He wants to help, to look after him. His treacherous mind provides the option that maybe he just wants to keep Alfyn to himself. His cheeks are heating up and gods how he hates it but he doesn’t run, doesn’t so much as look away. He meets Alfyn’s eyes almost defiantly and raises his voice in a murmur. 

“Not everything has a reason,” he says, “Don’t look too much into it.” 

Alfyn gives him the most radiant smile that Therion has ever seen. It’s as if he’s just stepped into the first sunrise after a long winter, being warmed from the inside out. Before he can recover from the sight of it, Alfyn leans in close and bumps their foreheads together. Therion finds himself blindly reaching for his hand and once he finds it, Alfyn weaves their fingers together and presses Therion’s softly against the sheets. 

“No,” Alfyn says gently and his eyes are very dark and out of focus. “Not everything has a reason. But this does.” 

Alfyn leans in, not giving him enough time to argue the point but enough time to move away if he wants to. Therion doesn’t move an inch. He does tense up in an instant of fear and forgets to shut his eyes. And then Alfyn’s lips press ever so gently against his own and all the tension he’s been holding dissipates like mist with the coming of morning. It only lasts a moment but it’s a moment that Therion knows he’ll never forget. It’s a moment that changes everything. 

Because now he has to make a choice. They both know it. Alfyn pulls away just enough to give him a nervous smile, to try and gauge his reaction, and Therion holds onto his hand as if afraid he’ll drift away if he lets go. 

“Therion?” 

Alfyn says his name more softly than anyone else ever has. He says it as if it’s something precious. Hearing it, Therion knows his decision has already been made. He wants to say it, he wants to say so _many_ things but words have abandoned him completely. He manages a weak nod. 

"Nn?"

“You’re my reason,” Alfyn says, his big brown eyes filled with affection. “And you’re my everything too.” 

This time it’s Therion that closes the distance between them. How else is he supposed to reply to something so sappy, so melodramatic, so _sweet & _that he can’t stand it? He leans in clumsily, nervous, not sure what he’s doing. He doesn’t have time to feel embarrassed about it as Alfyn easily takes the lead, cups Therion’s cheek with one hand and holds him gently in place while they kiss. Therion flounders with his free hand for a moment before he finds the front of Alfyn’s shirt and he gives it a good tug, pulling Alfyn closer without thinking it through. They tumble back onto the bed together, Alfyn just catching himself in time to avoid bashing their heads together, and Therion can’t help but join him in a breathless laugh. 

“Easy,” Alfyn urges. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. We can take it slow.” 

“Quiet,” Therion murmurs, fisting both hands in Alfyn’s shirt and pulling him closer again. “Don’t lo-” 

“Look a gift horse in the mouth,” Alfyn finishes with a smug smile. “I know. I’d rather kiss it instead.” 

“Ugh, don’t call me a _horse,_ you-” 

He’s interrupted by a flurry of kisses to his lips and cheeks that leaves him reeling and unable to resist being drawn into a series of long, deepening kisses that follow. It’s strange, really, how he would never have considered doing this with someone he didn’t know but how this also feels like getting to know Alfyn all over again from the start. He learns that Alfyn tastes of mint and honey. He notices the way Alfyn’ grip on his hair tightens when Therion accidentally catches his lip with his teeth. He memorises the sound of each soft sigh between kisses, half-spoken endearments he had never dreamed would be for him. 

He’s not sure how long it lasts only that the light is gone from the sky and they’re laying in darkness when they finally run out of steam. His lips are tender and he’s out of breath as if he’s been running. He also can’t stop smiling even when he tries. 

“So..." Alfyn says at length, bumping their noses together. “What now?” 

Therion gives a breathless laugh before answering. 

“Dinner and drinks?” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“I know.” 

“So..."

Therion doesn’t have an answer. He hasn’t thought beyond any of the what if’s he has been considering for weeks. In truth he didn’t expect this to happen at all. But Alfyn is here, warm and sturdy in Therion’s arms. What happens next doesn’t seem to matter much right now. 

“We don’t have to do anything in particular,” Alfyn decides, reaching the same conclusion. “Whatever feels right, y’know?” 

What feels right is staying right here. Therion tangles a hand in Alfyn’s unruly hair and pulls him back in. It’s easier to show his feelings like this than try and find words for them. The words would be too embarrassing anyway. Alfyn has no such qualms and breaks one kiss to grin and murmur against Therion’s lips. 

“Hah, ‘do whatever you want’?” 

This time Therion kisses him just to shut him up, sinking his teeth into Alfyn’s lower lip and feeling no small amount of smugness from the resulting jolt that runs through him. And this is how they stay until the moon is getting high in the sky, tangled and breathless, teasing and giddy and nervous all at once. It’s like being drunk only better. Once this stray thought crosses Therion’s mind he has to say something. 

“I don’t feel like drinking tonight,” he says. “Is that all right?” 

Alfyn doesn’t hesitate in his reply. 

“Sure is.,” he smiles.”Anythin’ you want.” 

Therion knows he means it. From the very star ;Alfyn hasn’t asked for anything in return. Perhaps because of that, Therion finds himself wanting to give something anyway. Tonight he’s going to kiss until he’s the only one left awake just so that he can be smug about it in the morning. Tomorrow, who knows? He’ll work it out when he gets there. 

No, that’s wrong. That’s not how it is now, is it? They’ll work things out together when the time comes. There’s a comfort in the thought that he’s never felt before. He knows that whenever he chooses to open his heart a little more, however soon or distant that might be, Alfyn will be there waiting. 

As they laugh and kiss their way through the night, Therion can feel a new chapter of his life beginning. 

**Author's Note:**

> Epigraph and title from Shakespeare's _As You Like It_ because wow Therion vibes.
> 
> Sorry for bullying you Tressa, Therion loves you really and so do I <3
> 
> Find me on Twitter @_zenbee !


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